


Partners In Crime

by modern_vellichor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modern_vellichor/pseuds/modern_vellichor
Summary: Peter watches his oldest friends turn into a stranger
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Kudos: 11





	Partners In Crime

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, underage drinking etc  
> This fic is inspired by 'Partners In Crime' by FINNEAS

"You look pretty", Peter whispered. "All strung out on coke."  
"It's not funny," you slurred.  
"It wasn't a joke."  
You leaned in to press a sweet kiss to his soft lips. You rested your forehead against his, cradling his face in your hands, whispering.  
"its okay, it'll all be okay, I promise"  
Peter remembers when you first met. A long time ago. He remembers how sweet you were, kind and fair with a beautiful smile. You could remember what happened yesterday and didn't go to parties. You didn't crave male attention and you didn't hang yourself out. When you could kiss him sober.

Every teenager makes mistakes, Peter knows that. You just got addicted to yours.

You were never popular. And people loved you when you were high.

You got invited to every party, and Peter was always your plus one. He remembers watching you scan the room for him, he was hiding on the stairs. You had tapped your friend on the shoulder and the two of you searched the crowd for him. And when be couldn't be found he watched you disappear out to the back yard. He watched you take that little white pill. He watched you change. You don't remember, but he does.

When he would ask about it you would laugh it off. You would say that it's just the 'teenage years'. You would call him paranoid. But Peter noticed how the bags under your eyes darkened, and the lines in your forehead deepened. Your skin went grey and your smile faded. Fingers became lonely without a cigarette and sobriety became foreign.

It was only a weekend habit in high school. Your grades never faltered. You complained about headaches and smoked during the car ride home. You graduated at the top of your class, smiling happily, hand held tightly in Peter's. That was the last time you kissed him sober, right there on the stage.

You drifted apart from Peter in college. You made worse friends. Peter would call and eventually you just stopped answering, and Peter stopped calling. He would see you, walk past your dorm, or in the bar. Drunk and dancing or high and laughing. He noticed the way you scratched your nose constantly, and your fingernails were turning yellow.

Before you became strangers Peter caught you in a bar. And he carried you home like he had so many times. And when you were sat cross legged on the floor you had kissed him. And all the memories of all the drunken kissed came flooding back to Peter. All the times you had cried to him. All the promised you made after a late night out. All the times you had begged for forgiveness between kisses that tasted like gin and cigarettes.

Peter tucked you into bed. He took one last look before closing the door and walking out. And he didn't see you for years.

You continued your habits without Peter. You jumped from relationship to relationship, each as toxic as the next. Some partners tried and failed to help, most only fueled your addiction. Then you met your last boyfriend. He was so sweet when he was sober, loving and kind. He would urge you to go to rehab. And then he would drink, and he was a mean drunk. He would call you names and hit you around the place, and you took it.

When Peter graduated college Pepper threw him a party. You saw the little invitation as an escape. You sobered up and bought a nice dress. You arrived at the party. You had spent all night searching for Peter, and to no avail.

You snuck out to the balcony. Your cigarette glowed and smouldered in the dark. The crisp night air nipped and bit your skin.

Peter watched you silently from the doorway. He stood there for a good few minutes before leaning on the banister beside you.

You turned to look at him with a surprised look, and sighed in relief.

"Hey," he whispered with a smile.

Your skin had regained its colour and you looked young and awake. And you smiled, and full, real smile.

"Hey"

You dropped the cigarette and engulfed Peter in a hug.

"I told you it would be okay"

Peter sent you home after the party, told you to pack your things and come back to him. You came back with a black eye and a broken nose.

"You look pretty," he said with a light chuckle. "Even if your nose is broke."

"Its not funny," you sighed happily, knowing that you were safe.

"It wasnt a joke."


End file.
